Like Clockwork
by AMooPoint
Summary: David gets Snow a fancy present for their upcoming anniversary. Emma breaks it. Regina, somehow, gets roped into fixing the wretched thing.


**A/N:** "Mary," you ask, hope in your eyes, "when does this take place?"

"Friend," I reply, tears in my own, "who the fuck knows?"

* * *

It's a silly thing, the clock. Over large and impossibly heavy from all the ornamental attachments. The face sits in basswood that's been carved into the image of the hollow of a tree, cradled in what's been designed to look like a nest. Two beautiful sparrows are chiseled into the sides, and on the hour, _every_ hour, a chick pops out from a hidden compartment and cries hungrily for a meal.

Regina hates it, which will surprise no one to hear. It's loud and tacky, bulky, utterly Snow White. She wrinkles her nose at the thing where it sits on her desk before lifting her gaze to glare at the woman who dumped it there.

"Please fix it with magic." Emma's eyes are wide and hopeful and so very Henry.

They instantly soften the queen, who pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and wonders just how to let down her companion without soiling this new, tentative friendship they've been cultivating between them. "I-" she hesitates, leans back in her chair, "I don't think I should. I know nothing about-"

"Come on, Regina," Emma whines. She rocks back on her heels a bit, slumps her shoulders. Entirely childish, as usual. Honestly, Regina should stop being so surprised. "If anyone can do it, it's you."

Regina huffs and folds her arms across her chest. "Flattery won't make me a Clocksmith, Miss Swan."

"Just give it a try. Do your, you know," Emma waves a hand over the clock, "Bibbidi Bobbidi Doo thing."

"Boo," she corrects before she can stop herself.

Emma's brow furrows. "What was I thinking of?"

"Probably Scooby."

Her face lights up in recognition, smile dopey, gaze far-off and wistful, and she chuckles. "Oh, yeah. I love that guy."

"Emma," Regina sighs out, desperate to get the conversation back on track.

"Right. Yeah." Emma nods, snaps back to the present, all business. "Come on, please?"

"It's not a matter of me holding out on you. You broke the inner workings of the clock. I don't know how to fix that."

Emma heaves a sigh and frowns down at the device. "David's gonna kill me. He was so excited."

"I'm sure it's not so serious as that." Regina leans forward, elbows on her desk, head tilted as she takes in the damage.

Some of the wood is chipped in places, a little scratched up, certainly worse for wear. The glass protecting the face is cracked, which is doable, but she's not so sure how to mend the fact that neither hand is moving. She can likely reattach the father bird's wing, as well as the mother's beak, but her magic will never do as smooth and clean a job as a professional craftsman, and forget about her being able to maneuver something as tiny and delicate as the broken baby bird.

"You really should take it to Marco," Regina tries to reason. "He's the one who created it in the first place. It will take him time but he loves your parents," she's proud of herself for being able to say that aloud without gagging, "and I'm sure he would be happy to-"

"No." Emma's eyes are hard, her voice cold. Lips pulled into a tight line, she shakes her head and tugs the remnants of the clock close to her chest. "Not Marco."

Regina shoots her a questioning look but Emma merely averts her gaze and refuses to elaborate. Well then.

"I don't know what to tell you, Emma."

"Just try," Emma presses. "Please. Don't make me go grovel to Gold."

"Of course not. I'm asking you to grovel to Marco."

"Regina," Emma huffs.

It's stupid. Regina already knows she can't fix it. But Emma's standing there, pouting, pleading, and so, she sets herself up to fail.

A familiar action by this point in her life, surely.

* * *

Emma's gaze is piercing and intense as she watches Regina work. She's sitting now, at least, which makes the interaction less awkward. Regina sits too, though she is atop her desk, the heavy clock on her lap, pressing hard on her thighs. She keeps the wretched thing steady with one hand - Emma adds her own to help - and holds a wooden sparrow wing in the other.

"I'm not-"

"A clocksmith," Emma finishes, and rolls her eyes as though Regina isn't the one doing her a personal favor. "I know. Just try your best. I'm sure it will come out great."

Emma must pay absolutely no attention during their magic lessons. Honestly, moments like these make her wonder why she even bothers.

A deep breath, and then Regina presses the broken wing into the side of the bird. She lines up the wood as best she can. It's not too difficult, it was a pretty clean break.

Maybe she can do this. It will be faster than Marco's work after all, which is probably why Emma has come to her. Her parents are out in the woods with Henry, teaching all they know about surviving in the wilderness - much to Henry's delight and Regina's disdain - but they will be back tomorrow afternoon. The day after will be their anniversary, a fact Regina hates that she knows, and David will want to present his gift to his wife. No wonder Emma entered her office in such a state of panic.

Just as she nearly perfects the lineup, Emma shifts in her seat, taking her hands, and the support of the clock, with her.

"Oh good, that's making this much easier."

"Sorry." She's seen that sheepish smile a thousand times, whenever Henry leaves his sneakers on the stairs or his jacket slung across the back of the couch.

Regina clears her throat and refocuses. Again, she lines up the wood. When the break is as near perfect as she can figure, she wills her magic to her fingertips, specifically her thumb, and rubs it over the division. Over and over she smooths it, wills the wood to merge together. It's an awkward process, new and slow and frustrating, but it appears to be working.

She leans over her work, completely focused now that she tastes the potential for success. Her hair falls over her shoulder the farther forward she moves, and falls into her face. A tickle, then a huff, and she shakes her head, flicks it back and out of her way.

Emma snickers.

"What?" Regina lets her eyes wander away from her project to the woman sitting in front of her. She must admit, she's enjoying the height difference from perched atop her desk. It's reminiscent of old power plays from a time when she was keeper of a dark curse and other terrible secrets.

"Nothing, I just-" Emma shrugs and tries to pretend she's not doing a horrible job of warding off a smile. "I like your hair long," she says, and after a moment of enduring Regina's questioning stare she shifts in her seat and flushes. "I mean, I liked it short too, but-" A groan, then a sigh. "Before everything was so tense and you were just this scary mayor lady and now-" She winces, cheeks gone from pink to red. "I dunno, you're such a mom," she settles on mumbling in her discomfort.

Emma snaps her eyes shut and breathes deep. "That probably came out weird and not like I meant it," she mutters before opening her eyes once more. Her chuckle is weak and uncertain. "Forget I said anything."

Beyond perplexed, Regina just purses her lips and refocuses on the wood in her hands and does a fantastic job of keeping the heat from her cheeks, thank you. She keeps moving her thumb, trying now to ignore the other woman's presence all together, until the wood is smooth and melded on all sides of the wing. And then, though she's no professional, she sits back a bit and takes the work in from a distance and thinks that maybe it's not half bad.

Well, it's not _good_ , certainly. But it surely could be worse.

"That looks terrible, Regina."

Regina bristles instantly, old insecurities taking over, and huffs. "I told you I'm not a-" she starts to defend herself but falters. Regina shakes her head. Calms herself. "Destruction is more my thing," she settles for growling. "I'm much better at setting things on fire than woodworking."

Emma, the insensitive idiot, bursts out laughing. It's deep and hearty and she let's go of the clock to hold her stomach as tears form in her eyes. "I fucked up so bad," Emma gasps through her laugh. "Holy shit."

And Regina has to join in the amusement then because her eyes fall on the clock in her lap and on top of all the damage Emma had done, the broken wing sits awkward and uneven, slightly off kilter and leaning far too much to the left. It really is the most awful thing she's ever seen. And Emma's laughter is genuine and full of mirth, not scorn, so maybe it's okay she's been less than perfect. Maybe it's okay to giggle in the face of failure.

Emma grins up at her from her chair when they both calm, gaze shining with affection. "Wanna know something super embarrassing?"

Regina raises an eyebrow. "About the Flawless Savior?" She smirks. "Always."

"I didn't accidentally knock the clock over." There's still mirth in Emma's gaze, she's still laughing at herself, yes, but there's something else there too, something sad. It sobers Regina in an instant.

"You smashed it on purpose?" Regina frowns and twists to set the clock on the desk beside her. "Why?"

Emma shakes her head and shrugs again. "Probably because I'm super immature and have issues dealing with my anger." She says the words fast and with little inflection. Like this isn't a confession of hidden emotion.

Like they're not about to have a Moment. The kind they've been having more and more of recently. The kind that leave Regina somehow both unsettled and euphoric whenever they occur.

She breathes deep and readies herself, scoots forward on the desktop and grips the edge tight in her fists. "Emma, why won't you go to Marco?"

"You know why," Emma says. She's right too. "Everyone does. They just won't say it."

"Maybe you have to first." It's the closest Regina knows how to offer as invitation. She's never been the type for pretty phrases like, 'I'm always here to listen if you need me'. Well, she hasn't been for quite some time anyhow.

"He got it all back," Emma says. And those words break the damn. "Everything. They both did. At least, for a time, he was miserable. August had his twenty eight years of fun but then he came back and it was awful. He was laying there turning into a puppet in some shitty trailer in the middle of the woods. And it was so, so bad but in a way I was happy because it was like, like-"

"Justice," Regina says, even and hollow.

Emma nods. "And it was terrible but it was also okay because you can't just destroy an innocent baby's life and get away with it. You end up old and alone or maybe a puppet. And I pitied them, but it was also right. You know? And I know I'm a horrible person but, that was right. Wasn't it?"

Regina leans back a bit. Emma doesn't cry in front of her, not unless Henry is on the cusp of death, and it doesn't matter in those instances because Regina is always crying too. But now, Emma is crying, and she doesn't even look like she realizes tears are rolling down her cheeks. Emma's crying and Regina _isn't_ so the only thing for her to focus on is the fact that Emma _is_ , and oh how the hell did she get herself in this mess in the first place?

Consoling isn't a job for Evil Queens.

She licks her lips, tightens her grip on the desk. "Who are we to say?"

"It was though," Emma snaps, and the only reason she's not out the door on her ass is that Regina knows she's not the one being yelled at. Not really. "It was something. But now, how am I supposed to feel? I'm here, like this, and he gets to go back." She's on her feet and she's yelling. Screaming. And Regina listens with a sympathetic grimace like she's a supportive friend and this isn't really all her fault. Like she's not really to blame.

"He got his freedom, thirty fucking years of fun and adventure, and then he gets to go back." Emma stomps toward the office window, juts her finger towards it. "I have to walk by that fucking shop everyday and see them in that fucking garage and he gets it all back. He's a boy, and Marco? Marco got to fucking wait. He was fucking _frozen_ and he got to wait. They lost nothing. _Nothing_."

Her chest is heaving and her words are watery and Regina remembers being a child locked high in a beautiful castle while her subjects wander below her and whisper about how very much they envy their queen.

"I lost everything they took from me and there's no getting it back. Not like that. Not the way they have. I was their loss. I carried it all for them. They sacrificed me for themselves before I could even hold my fucking head up and now I have to watch them be rewarded for it and I-" She staggers back on her feet, drags her hands through her hair. "I'm," she stammers, "I'm sorry. I- I don't know." She stares at Regina, eyes wide, "I shouldn't have- I'm sorry."

"Don't be," is all Regina says, because she's far more to blame than an old man desperate to save his son from an evil witch. And even if she doesn't know how to even begin to apologize, she can teach herself to listen.

Emma shakes her head and slumps back into the wall beside the window. She slides down until she's seated on the floor, brings her knees close to her chest and leans to push her forehead into them. "Sorry. That was stupid."

Regina lingers on the desk, contemplates, hesitates, then pushes herself onto her feet. Emma remains still, even as Regina drops down beside her, seated on the floor, undignified and awkward in her tight skirt and heels.

"Sounds like you were their savior."

"Fuck you," Emma chuckles out bitterly into her knees.

Regina smiles. She wants to speak. Has too. It's a risk, probably one she'll regret taking, but maybe-

If anyone in this town has proven themselves, it's Emma Swan.

"Not to speak ill of the dead," Regina dares, "but sometimes-" she falters, laughs bitterly, "all of the time, actually, to watch Neal-" again, she stumbles. This is harder than she thought. "First Henry," she tries again, "then you, both so adoring and-" Shit. It's coming out all wrong.

She dares to turn her head, to look at Emma, and the woman is staring at her, brow pulled together, eyes searching. Just curiosity. No judgement. Not yet.

That'll change.

Regina takes a deep breath and she resolves herself to telling the truth, no matter what it may bring. "The entirety of my life was shaped by my mother to become queen, and what little I still had of it after that was then destroyed, completely demolished by Rumpelstiltskin so he could find his boy. And for a time, that's how my story turned out. I had nothing, and I had to watch the living embodiment of why, some drifter manchild, steal my son's love from me."

"Regina-" Emma starts to argue, features twisted with guilt that Regina knows shouldn't exist.

"I'm merely stating how it felt at the time," she swiftly silences that protest with a wave of the hand. "It was, the _worst_ pain. And sometimes there is a piece of me that whispers in the back of my mind. A piece that tells me I'm happy he's gone. That as much as his death hurt Henry," she pauses, swallows, "hurt you, his absence from Gold's life means that Gold failed. That he tried to destroy my soul to win back his boy, but he failed, which means that there is a piece of my life that still might belong to me."

Emma doesn't scowl at her. She doesn't shout. There's no rage or hatred or disgust. She just watches, waits. It fuels Regina with the courage to continue.

"Sometimes looking at it that way makes me happy," she admits. "And then other times I feel the exact opposite, because he failed, which means I was destroyed for nothing and oh," she shakes her head and swallows back the lump that threatens to take up residence in her throat, "that makes me so, so angry."

Regina marvels, briefly, at the fact that Emma's still there. That maybe it's okay to say these things aloud. To not bottle them up so tight and tuck them away for no one to find.

"Sometimes I'm upset on Henry's behalf. Sometimes I'm upset on yours. The feeling is always different, but it's also always there. And I can just get so murderously, violently, _angry_. When I think of him, or look at Gold. When your mother passes me in the street or when your father hands in a report to my office. It never fades," she clenches her fist, digs her nails into her palms until her skin turns pink because everything she's saying is true in her heart and yet somehow isn't making much coherent sense, "and I've had to learn how to live around it. I'll have to live around all of it for the rest of my life."

The stupid sparrow clock may be broken, but the plain, _far classier_ , one hung on Regina's wall isn't. It circles round and round, each muffled tick sounding like a virtual uproar in the silence of the office. Perhaps she's said too much. Offered too much. Bared too much of her soul. Because she knows, Emma likes to pretend.

Pretend she's not the reason her life has been a shadow of what it should have been.

Pretend Regina's an aloof friend, not murderous monster.

Pretend they can have conversations like this and it won't take an uncomfortable turn.

Regina dares once more to look at her companion and finds Emma's head back buried against her knees. Sorry, she wants to say, wants to backtrack, but as soon as her mouth opens, Emma's laughing into her legs.

"Wow," she drawls through her chuckles. "That was a really fucked up story."

Oh, so then maybe, for once, her feelings are okay. "I know," Regina agrees, and wonders if she'd had someone like Emma locked up with her in her lonely castle, that perhaps life might have taken a different path.

Emma calms and turns her head, flashes the queen a soft smile. "Thank you," she says.

Regina nods.

The smile weakens, quivers at the corners. "What do I do?"

"You get up," Regina says, "get over yourself, and let your son go on a camping trip with two idiots who you ferociously despise just because you know it will make him happy."

Emma blinks.

"Take the clock to Marco, Emma."

Emma's lips fall into a deep frown. "I don't want to," she whines.

Her pout is so childish. It's petulant and immature and there is such playful mischief in her whole demeanor that it leaves Regina breathless. They can be like this, say these things, and it's still the same. Emma isn't recoiling or flinching, she's not angry or disappointed. She's being an idiot, again, like always, because it so clearly is something infused in her blood, and the pair of them are somehow so similar while being so different. She fills with a bubbling warmth at the thought, at the ease of them, at their mutual understanding. At the safety of it all.

And it's okay, and Emma's pouting, and Regina finds she just has to surge forward and kiss the expression away because, honestly, the woman is near thirty, this kind of behavior should be embarrassing. It's soft. Very quick. More of a peck, than anything. Emma is responsive when the shock wears off, though tentatively so, and when Regina shifts away to gauge her reaction, her eyes are wide and filled with a million warring questions.

Regina bites her lip, knows she might not be able to answer them. At least, not right now. But in an instant that doesn't matter because Emma's gaze glosses over, gets hazy and unfocused, and a wide, goofy smile spreads across her face from cheek to cheek.

Great. What did Regina get herself into this time?

"You-" Emma starts, and there's such an awed lilt to her voice that Regina's cheeks heat and she has to stop whatever the comment is about to be before it can fully form.

"Marco's, Emma," she orders, kind but firm. "Take the clock to Marco's."

"Oh," Emma says, and staggers to her feet at the command. She backs towards Regina's desk, eyes never leaving the other woman, "Okay, I'll, uh." She grasps the clock in one hand, supports it at the base, and pinches the broken off beak between her free fingers. "I'll just take this to Marco, then. Get it fixed up." She wanders towards the doors, still looks rather unsteady. Nods. "Yup. Um, yeah. Okay. Yeah."

And her foot clips the side of Regina's wastebin, sends her stumbling into the doorframe. The clock shaves the archway and the sparrow's wing snaps off once more at the force, tumbles towards the floor with a clatter.

"Oh, _Emma_ ," Regina sighs from her seat, shaking her head.

"Sorry," Emma cries, flushed, and quickly bends to scoop it up in her free hand. "It's okay. Yeah. I got it. I'll just-" she clears her throat as she retreats. "Okay." And she's gone.

Regina remains on the floor for a time, closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall. Enjoys the silence and wonders what sort of mess she's created for herself now. Snow's stupid, hideous clock could have very well have set about events that destroy the hard won peace she's created in her life.

Relatively speaking, of course. The town does get attacked rather frequently after all.

Emma hadn't seemed upset. Confused, more like. Regina doesn't dare think the word 'excited'. Her heart won't thank her for that later, once things inevitably turn sour. For they will, won't they? They always do. Her life is evidence enough of that.

No, things never go well for Regina, all the joys in her life manage to get destroyed meticulously, one by one, without fail. Like clockwork. Even her place in Henry's life can still feel tenuous at times.

Her phone rings.

She struggles to her feet, glad no one is around to see her clumsy attempt to stand, and moves to her desk to retrieve her cell from her purse.

Oh, she should have known. Regina's stomach clenches as she reads the name on the display. It's a struggle to answer.

"Yes?" she manages.

"Hey, on my way to Marco's, I promise. You could, uh, give Archie a run for his money, you know that?" Emma releases a strangled laugh. It sounds vaguely like a hyena's. Regina purses her lips at the thought, fights her own chuckle.

"I doubt that."

"Maybe not for the average citizen," Emma concedes. "But I think you do all right for me."

"Well then, my work here is done."

Emma laughs again, far too hard and long, and her nerves would be horribly endearing if Regina's own stomach wasn't in knots.

"Was there somethin-"

"Can I take you out to dinner?"

"What?" Regina grips the phone tight. Too tight, probably.

"Yeah, I figure, you know, a thank you. I mean, you did a horrible job, it looked terrible, but, it's the thought that counts, right? The effort? I should thank you. I- I want to, if you'll let me."

Regina can't help herself. "By that logic, shouldn't Marco be joining us?"

Emma snorts over the line. "His thanks, if he even agrees-"

"He will," Regina interrupts, because he will. He won't even think twice about it. Won't ask for a penny in return.

"If," Emma repeats, "he agrees, then his thanks will be me not putting my fist through his face."

It's a threat as empty as they come. "Do I need to reevaluate my law enforcement officials?"

"Regina," Emma returns without pause, the smile clear in her voice, "you've punched me before."

"Yes but I'm the mayor, I can do whatever I want."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"That's how it works in my town." This is good. Easy banter that has them both smiling. It's normal, for them. And Regina starts to relax.

Of course Emma immediately ruins it.

"Let me take you to dinner."

Regina closes her eyes. "Why?"

"Because I want to."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"You have to be sure." It's a plea because she can't -

They can't -

Not if -

"I know," Emma says softly, no hesitation, like she understands. "I am." No reluctance.

Her heart already hurts. It already hurts and nothing bad has even happened yet. Regina swallows. "Nowhere public."

"I'm not much of a cook."

"I am."

"Aw, come on, you turned it around on me," Emma whines, but there is amusement twisted within the words. "You can't do that."

Despite herself, Regina smirks. "I believe I just did. I-" her confidence wavers, "I could text you, after work. If- if you wanted."

"That sounds good."

It does. Like maybe, the both of them, can have something, create something, on their own. Like Henry, something no one else can twist or claim credit for. No one else can manipulate or use. Something good. Something just theirs. Together.

"So, Yeah?" Emma presses.

"Yes."

"Cool."

And when they end the call, Regina clutches the phone to herself and takes a deep, calming breath.

Yes, cool.


End file.
